June 17, 2001

  • Some days I wake up and know that I can’t make a difference.


    Which is okay if you are in the wilderness and on a solitary sojourn.


    Wake up—stretch—climb out of the sleeping bag.  Stay put or move camp?  Doesn’t matter.  Go for a hike or collect firewood?  Whatever!  Take photos, write poetry, or take a shot of Jack from the bottle in your pack?  Everything, anything, nothing at all.  Just lay in an idle pasture of wildflowers sunning , or sit by a stream letting the sonorous gurgles replace any inclination to think,  or stand at the bottom of a mountain, look up, and start hiking.  Want to walkabout?  Great!  Prefer to sit and meditate? Yeah! What, when, if—will make no difference.  And knowledge that it is so is actually reassuring.  No impact is attuning, harmonizing, conveying of a sense of participation in things eternal.  The mind is clear and breathing is slow and deep.  Shuffle.  The day is the dealer and you are one card in the deck.  Nature shuffles and you play, are played, as aimless as a game of solitaire.  Though some hidden creatures may watch aware, there is no interplay.  Space resolves all commotion into respectful, non-invasive coexistence.   One moment transcendentally sentient, the next lulled into mindlessness.  Relax there are no cares, and Nature, sweeping in as particulars and then back out to cosmic dimensions,  enlarges as it absorbs you.  It’s as meaningful and meaningless and laughable as Ziggy staring at an X indicating “you are here.”


    Some days I wake up and feel that I can’t make a difference.


    Unfortunately, I’m not always then in the wilderness on that solitary sojourn.

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